


Juxtapose

by Terminallydepraved



Series: SWATverse [6]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, Double Penetration, Gangbang, Genital Piercing, M/M, Messy, The One Where 900's Pussy Breaks, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 15:38:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17025396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Terminallydepraved/pseuds/Terminallydepraved
Summary: RK900 knows its a bad idea to entertain his fellow SWAT officers in the middle of a mission. They're on call, after all...But really, he can't just let them go into the field distracted, now can he?





	Juxtapose

**Author's Note:**

> my half of a fic for art trade im doing with yougei! enjoy!

The operation had begun nearly an hour ago, and still RK900 hadn’t been called into the field. There were reasons for this. Multiple ones. Captain Allen had been brief in outlining them, but 900 didn’t really need to be told them to obey. He had his orders; he was content to wait until they changed.

The men beside him, however, weren’t so easily assuaged.

Officer Smith stretched his arms behind his head, letting out a loud groan as he stretched as much as he could given the cramped confines of the SWAT van they were currently seated within. “Seriously,” he yawned, kicking out his long legs until they hit the bench on the opposite side of the aisle. “What the fuck is taking them so long?”

“Would you quit your bitching?” Nichols answered, his own leg bouncing antsily as he crossed his arms. His eyes hadn’t left the surveillance screens located towards the front of the van, but they did just for a moment now to glare at his fellow officer. “Captain said they don’t need a fuckin’ sniper yet. Just hold your fuckin’ horses until they do.”

The tension had been rising ever since they’d been told to wait in the van for new orders to come. The mission wasn’t overly serious, nothing to worry about, and yet 900 had been monitoring the stress levels of his fellow officers and had noted a decided trend upwards. Smith masked his with the facade of boredom, shifting and complaining and fidgeting around, searching for stimulus in a place devoid of it. Nichols, on the other hand, couldn’t seem to hold himself still. His foot kept tapping. His eyes kept darting. He was wound tighter than a spring, and 900 didn’t think his sensors were sensitive enough to detect when he might snap entirely. 

But, perhaps he didn’t need to rely on his sensors to know such things. They’d all gotten… closer since their foray in the post-mission showers. The team at large had begun to look at him differently, easing their distrust and sharing softer words with him. 900 found his eyes straying down to his lap where Nichol’s tapping, twitching leg was pressed flush against his own. The heat of his thigh was a constant source of information like this. Smith’s sprawl did much the same, his outstretched arm coming to a rest behind the back of 900’s chair. 

Things like that were hard to process. They took up CPU, clogging up his visuals as he attempted to make sense of it all through more and more data readouts. It was probably a good thing he wore his helmet now. He had a feeling that his rapidly flashing LED would prove a bother to the men bracketing him on either side. 

“It won’t be much longer,” he said, trying to reassure them. He curled his hands into loose fists on his knees, sitting primly. He was the only one sitting as such; sprawling and slouching was a human trait, one he couldn’t quite emulate comfortably. 

Both men looked at him, their attentions caught. Smith smiled and curled his fingers around 900’s shoulder, giving up the pretense of simply letting his arm linger at his back. Nichols’s leg slowed its tapping. His lips curved into a crooked grin. “Maybe the time would go faster if we had something pretty to look at while we waited.”

900 cocked his head to the side. Something pretty? They were in the SWAT van. The most they had in terms of entertainment were the surveillance feeds and the weapons rack mounted to the wall in front of them. 

Nichols snorted a little and shifted into a better, more proper position. His knee bumped 900’s. “Cute as it is, I gotta wonder why you’re wearin’ that helmet in here,” he said, nodding towards 900’s head. “Smith and I aren’t. We aren’t in the field, so you can take it off and show us that pretty face of yours.”

_ They like the sight of my face.  _ The observation displayed itself behind his eyes and then was filed away into storage just as quickly. They technically were in the field, but the standing order to serve the team at large superseded minor protocol. Smith, and especially Nichols, were exhibiting signs of stress. 900 lifted his hands and disengaged the lock on his helmet, pulling it off his head in hopes of making it better. 

“Oh, there you are,” Nichols rasped, drifting a little closer as he raised his hand to fix some of 900’s hair. 

“Does this make you feel better?” 900 asked, letting the man turn his fingers from primping to petting. They curved down the shape of his skull, curling behind his ear to tease the sensors built into his skin. Carefully he turned to look at Smith, doing his best not to dislodge or discourage Nichols’s touch. “Your stress levels are reading at much lower rates now, but both of your resting heart rates have incre—”

“Y’know what would really be great?” Smith interrupted, using the arm around 900’s shoulders to reel him closer, tugging him away from Nichols entirely. “If I could get a good luck kiss from you. It’d really settle my nerves, you get me?” He smiled charmingly at 900, his handsome features in full force. He raised his hand and combed through 900’s hair too, petting him like something precious. “It’s like our little ritual at this point. Could be bad to break tradition.”

Another strange thing that had developed in the time since their first encounter. Smith had taken to kissing him often, almost always when alone. They’d be the last to leave the changing rooms or the armory, or even just pass one another in the hall coming to report in for the latest mission. A good luck kiss, he’d always say as he grabbed 900 by the wrist and pulled him in. Something quick, something warm, something utterly incomprehensible to 900 but always seemed to put a smile on Smith’s face. 

It was good for morale to kiss his teammates, 900 had concluded. If they were to go into the field soon, it would be best to make sure the morale of these men were as high as he could possibly make them. 

900 leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to the man’s cheek first, then his lips. He made to pull back but was startled to find a hand in his hair, impeding his retreat. 900 was pulled forward again, Smith kissing him insistently this time, deepening it when 900 gave in and parted his lips obediently. 

The kiss lasted for precisely twenty-six seconds before Smith broke it to breathe. His eyes were half-lidded now, his breathing far more labored than it should have been for such a short stint of no breathing. 900 blinked, licked at his lips, then blinked again when a hand tugged at his sleeve. 

“Aw, baby, where’s my kiss?” Nichols murmured, pressing against his shoulder as if to remind him that he was still there. 

900 turned towards Nichols. Fair was fair, wasn’t it? He leaned in and pecked the man on the cheek, not fighting it when he turned his head and caught his lips with his own. 900 closed his eyes, flicking out his tongue to meet the one teasing at the seam of his lips. Smith was pawing at his hips now, nuzzling the back of his neck until 900 broke the kiss with Nichols to give Smith another of his own.

“Could just eat you up,” Nichols murmured, layering kiss after kiss to the back of his neck as Smith took stock of his mouth. His hands kept drifting lower, pawing at him through his armor and fatigues. “You want that? Bet Smith and I could make you sing loud enough to rattle the windshield.”

Smith broke the kiss to laugh breathlessly against 900’s mouth. It let him reply, if only briefly. He could sense that another kiss was coming. That more than that would follow if he didn’t remind them of the current situation. “The captain will… He’ll be giving his orders any moment,” 900 tried to say, focusing on the mission at hand. He’d been told to standby, to wait for the call to join. Nichols’s hand fondled his inner thigh, slipping beneath a strap that held a supply pouch to his leg. The hand squeezed, sending a shiver through 900’s sensors. “Shouldn’t we be waiting patiently? We need to be ready to act.”

“Aw, don’t worry your pretty little head over that,” Nichols crooned, sucking at 900’s earlobe. “Just think about it. They haven’t called for Smithy here to go snipin’ at anything, so the situation is stable. I don’t see any harm in killing some time, do you?”

It would be… detrimental to their mission should they be called into the field in this state. RK900 bit down on his bottom lip, letting out a burst of warm air when Nichols gave up the pretense of fondling his thigh to palm him squarely over the crotch instead. Smith was already at work on his hands, freeing them from the gloves strapped around his wrists. The chances of Captain Allen calling him in now were… slight. If the mission didn’t require him on a frontal assault, it was unlikely it would need him for a follow-up, especially with Smith and Nichols on call. 

“What do you say, baby?” Nichols drawled in his ear. “You gonna be good for us? Good like you were in the shower?”

900 opened his eyes and nodded weakly. “I think it would be best if you both remained dressed,” he said, watching their hands work their way along his body, unclipping straps and unzipping zippers as they went. “If the captain puts in the call…”

“Don’t you worry about that,” Smith said, slipping his palm through the open slit he’d worked into 900’s shirt. “We can work around the armor. Why don’t you get out of yours now? I’ve been dyin’ to see all of  _ this—”  _ He gave 900’s pectoral a squeeze, the rough, textured pads of his gloved fingers dragging along 900’s nipple, “in front of me again.”

“Gonna have to let him go to see that,” the other man teased, pushing at 900’s hips until he stood and escaped Smith’s hands. “Go on and get undressed for us, babe. Smithy, you got any ideas?”

“Oh, tons. More than I know what to do with. Guess we’ll have to share.” He pulled a face. “I’ll take his mouth if you want,” Smith offered reluctantly. “Since I had his ass last time.”

Nichols snorted. “How charitable of you.” He watched 900 strip, licking his lips a little. “If we do it right we both could get a turn with his ass.” 

900 swallowed, folding his jacket over the bench before working on his belt buckles. “Actually,” he said softly, “I recently underwent some upgrades. If you prefer, I have orifices enough to satisfy both of you without needing to resort to my mouth.”

Both men froze. Their eyes widened, and they glanced at once another before slowly turning to look at 900. 

“Uh, what do you mean, upgrades?” Nichols laughed with uncertainty. “You uh… You got, what? Another hole down there now?”

900 nodded, pulling his trousers down his legs. He stepped out of them, kicked them aside, and then spread his legs. “See?” he said quietly, spreading the lips of his new opening gently. They were already flushed with color, responding to the situation as willingly as 900 was himself. 

“Holy fucking shit,” Nichols groaned, covering his face with his hands. “Someone bought him a pussy. Who the fuck bought him a pussy?”

Well, Captain Allen was the one who put in the order, only 900 was certain the captain didn’t want anyone to become privy to that. So, he stayed silent, still spreading himself, and waited for one of them to make the first move. Every second they stayed stationary was another that passed them by, bringing them closer and closer to the moment where they’d be called into the field. Now wasn’t the time to wonder or ask questions. They needed to get themselves back into shape for duty, nothing more and nothing less. 

“Fuck, I don’t even care,” Smith hissed, snagging 900 by the wrist to tear his hands from his crotch. He dragged him close and spun him around, wrapping 900 in his arms. “God, you just get cuter and cuter every time I see you,” he said, rocking his hips against 900’s ass. “You gonna be a good boy for us? Gonna get yourself nice and wet for us?”

“Hell, I’ll get him wet,” Nichols muttered, stomping closer before dropping to his knees right in front of 900’s legs. He gripped him by the hips and knocked his thighs apart, dipping his head down to breathe hot, moist air across his sensitive folds. He glanced up just for a moment. “Baby, you’re in for a ride.”

There was no time to ask what sort of ride he meant. Nichols wasn’t really the type to explain things anyway; he was a man of action, and this time was no different. 900 let out a choked cry as the man buried his face between his legs, his mouth open and his tongue lapping and licking furiously at his folds, his clit, at the entrance lurking beneath it all. His body let out an unfortunately jerk, and it was only thanks to Smith’s firm grip that 900 stayed standing through all of the sudden stimulation. 

“You like that?” Smith growled in his ears, still rocking his hips against his ass. “God, you sound so good. Bet you taste fucking great.”

“That’s… Th-That’s—” 

Nichols pulled away, probably sensing the disagreement on his lips. “Oh, baby, don’t go lying to us now. You’re so sweet I could eat you with a spoon,” he said, mouth dripping and eyes dancing with a grin. 

“Don’t fuckin’ hog him,” Smith pressed, wrapping an arm around 900’s waist to snake his hand between his legs. He sucked in a harsh breath instantly while 900 simply tried to stay standing. “God, you’re wet. Jesus.” 

900 let out a broken, crackling cry. Smith laughed, pulling his fingers away. He took 900 by the chin and turned his head, pulling it back until 900 had a perfect view of watching Smith make a show of sucking his fingers into his mouth with evident glee. A burst of hot air issued forth from 900’s mouth; his systems fought to keep him cool when the two men boxing him in sought the exact opposite. 

“Cyberlife really knows how to show off, right?” Nichols pushed himself back onto his feet, standing up with his hands going for his belt. “We should send them a fruit basket or somethin’. Like, thank you for the sopping wet pussy you put on our android. Really helps boost morale.” 

900 wanted to mention that it wasn’t Cyberlife who ordered the upgrade for them. He didn’t manage it though. Couldn’t, he should say, since Smith slipped his saliva-soaked fingers back inside him, crooking his calloused fingers as if fine tuning the scope on his favorite sniper rifle. What he managed to say came out garbled, staticky. Both men laughed and Nichols unzipped his pants, pulling his cock out into the open air. 

Smith whistled lowly, hooking his chin over 900’s shoulder after pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. “That’s new. You get that over vacation?”

Nichols shook his head, pumping his hand up and down his cock. It was glistening at the tip, but not from precum. 900’s eyes widened, his analysis stuttering at the sight of a metal ring where flushed, ruddy flesh had been the last time he’d seen the man’s genitals. “Don’t usually wear it during ops,” he said, grinning when he caught 900 staring. “But they called me in for this one on an off day and I didn’t have time to take it out before suiting up.”

Now that he mentioned it, 900 could see evidence of other piercings littering Nichols’s face. He hadn’t paid much mind to it before, never finding a reason to look for the tiny pinpricks in his brow, his ears, his tongue. But they were there, undoubtedly also left for off-duty hours in order to maintain professionalism— 

“Plus it feels fuckin’ awful against the cup,” he went on, rolling his thumb over the base of the thick piercing. He licked at his lips, eyes nearly black with lust as he glanced up at his teammate. “Why you askin’? You feelin’ inadequate? Under-equipped?” 

“As if,” Smith retorted, pulling his fingers free to loop his hand behind 900 to undo his own belt. 900 whimpered and shook, suffering from the lack of support. He pitched forward and into Nichols’s waiting arms. 

“Hey there, beautiful.” Nichols was grinning so brightly that it put the sun to shame. He reached down and grabbed one of 900’s legs, hitching it up and around his waist. “You gonna fall for me so soon?”

900 parted his lips. “Given our current position, it is likely we’ll both fall—”

Another firm body pressed against his back. “You were saying?” Smith whispered, trailing the tip of his hard cock along the cleft of 900’s ass. He hooked his chin over 900’s shoulder and licked at his ear. “Y’know, I don’t think I mind it much if we switch. You okay with that, gorgeous? You good with me filling up your little fuckhole again?” 

So long as it satisfied them, anything was fine. Still, his LED spiralled yellow. He didn’t need a choice. 900 wasn’t sure he wanted one. He just… wanted them inside him. Filling him. Savoring him. He nodded, clutching Nichols around the shoulders. The pouches and buckles they wore dug into his skin. Rough fabric dragged against him, sending his sensors screaming. 

That. He just wanted more of that.

Warm lips kissed his shoulder tenderly. Smith. Ever the kisser. “Perfect,” he whispered as he lined himself up. “On three then?”

“Oh, fuck yes,” Nichols murmured, scrambling to line his piercing up with 900’s opening. He grinned meanly, rubbing the warmed metal against his clit for just a moment. 900 let out a choked little whine, trickles of slick dripping down his thighs in response to the stimulus. 

“One,” Smith started, brushing against the  _ fuckhole  _ in front of him. 

“Two.” Nichols stopped teasing, pressing the head of his cock to the opening between 900’s lips. 

“Three.”

900 knew it was coming. He even held his breath for it, something he hardly needed to do for anything other than cosmetics. The two men breached him in unison, pressing forward with such force that 900 found himself going up on his toes as the stimulation hit him all at once. 

“Fuck!” Nichols practically shouted, his grin so wide it crinkled his eyes. He didn’t try to pause or linger; he simply fucked forward, rutting into 900 like an animal. “Fuck, baby! That’s it, that’s so fucking good!” 

The piercing was unlike anything 900 had ever felt before. It was a strangely inorganic aspect to a burning, furious pressure, firm and insistent when the rest had give. It brushed against something inside him and made him tremble, crackling static to the sky. Nichols hugged him tight around the middle and plowed into him with wild abandon, fucking forward just as Smith pulled back, shoving 900 to and fro, working his entire body like a sleeve made special just for their cocks.

“So good, so good, so fucking good,” Smith crowed like a mantra, his fingers clawing and scratching along 900’s chassis as his projected skin bled away in patches. He hissed with glee. “God, you’re so tight.”

“Fucking  _ wet,  _ more like,” Nichols corrected, his voice gone to a husky tenor in the wake of his fervor. “You hear that? God, bitch, you fuckin’ hear how wet you are?”

900 could. He did. It squelched loudly, echoing against the close walls of the van as droplets of slick fell to the floor, flecking the men’s boots as they coaxed more and more from him. He dripped from both ends, soaking everything in sight with every outward pull the men made. If they fucked forward, buried to the hilt, they almost succeeded in plugging him up. The pressure was… terrible. His sensors screamed warnings at him, bright flashing lights screeching out that he was too full, that they were too deep, that he wasn’t meant to take this much all at once.

900 pushed those warnings aside, spreading his legs wider to encourage them to go deeper. 

“God, I can fucking feel you through him,” Nichols laughed, dragging his scruffy cheek along 900’s neck. It incited a shiver, a helpless little burst of sensory output that nearly took 900’s knees out from under him. “Never felt closer to you, Smith.”

That was probably hyperbole. Either way, 900 knew this probably wasn’t what he’d been built with in mind. His stomach bulged a little with every thrust Smith made, their cocks nudging and digging deeper inside him in ways he knew wasn’t good for his structural integrity. 

“You like it?” A hand slipped between 900 and Nichols, pawing at his nipples. 900 tossed back his head and let out a wave of heat. “You like having us stuffing you full?”

“Yeah, babe,” Nichols added, rolling his thumb over 900’s clit. “Do you like it? Or are you just wet like this always?”

“I… like it,” 900 whispered, voice so corrupted with static that he doubted they could understand him. He rocked down to meet every thrust, finding the perfect rhythm to match each of them best. “Please. Please, more. Fuck me more.”

Nichols grunted hard, a tremble running through him. “God, baby,” he growled, his measured rhythm stuttering. “You sound so good.”

They… liked hearing his voice. 900 rolled his head on his shoulder, plastering his back to Smith’s chest. Illogical as it was, he wished they both had undressed too. He wanted to feel their heat against his skin, their sweat rolling down his body. He wanted to be covered in them, his tongue heavy with their taste as they filled him inside and out. 

“P-Please,” he whimpered, hooking a hand behind Smith’s neck. He turned towards him, catching his lips in a shy kiss. “Please,” he whispered against his lips. “Please fuck me harder.”

Smith’s hips pistoned forward without warning. He bent over 900’s shoulder, grunting heavily in his ear. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, I’m gonna cum,” he growled, gripping 900’s hips in a mean grip to drag him back onto his cock. It was getting rougher, their thrusts deeper. 900 stood up on his toes and keened to the ceiling, his forehead brushing the top of the van as they rocked into something firm. Something rooted inside him.

Colors flashed behind his eyes. 

**System unstable. Damage imminent.**

_ More, more, more—  _

The warning lights and error messages took second stage to the groans both men let out as they spilled themselves inside him. Nichols swore huskily. Smith muffled his groan in the crook of 900’s neck. 900 went limp, shaking and stuttering. His fingers scrambled for purchase on their outfits, and then dragged down as gravity took him to the floor. 

It didn’t hit him at first what had broken inside him until their cocks slipped out of him. Then it became quite clear. 

900’s lubrication system wasn’t standard to his model type. It’d been a special addition Cyberlife had developed specifically for the SWAT team. That meant that it had to be installed alongside other systems. It wasn’t a perfect application, and the addition of his newest bio component just added more strain on the system in question. 

Because of that, it shouldn’t have come as a surprise to see that being penetrated from both ends by above-average sized cocks would knock that delicate system loose. 900’s knees gave out completely as his channels flooded with synthetic lubricant. It coursed down his legs in waves, no end to the deluge in sight. 

“Oh my God,” Smith murmured, taking a quick step back to avoid making a mess of his boots. He looked at Nichols, wide-eyed and grinning. “You broke his fucking pussy.”

Nichols opened and closed his mouth a few times, lifting his hand to drag it down his face as he shook his head in shock. “Y’know,” he said, lifting his eyes from the puddle streaming across the floor to take in his fellow officer. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

Smith snorted and threw one of 900’s gloves at Nichols’s face. It hit with a smack and then fell to the floor, landing in the puddle with a wet slap. 900 whined and quickly cupped himself between the legs, struggling to cover both holes when his hands couldn’t quite stem the flow like this. The slick was hot and thick, cut through with threads of cum. It kept dripping through the cracks in his fingers, adding to the mess already layering the floor. 

“Are you alright?” Smith asked, crouching down carefully after tucking himself back into his pants. He held out a hand and rested it on 900’s shoulder. “We didn’t hurt you, did we?”

900 shook his head, sensors still overwhelmed and sending back infinite loops of information he didn’t need. Smith’s hand was as good as a direct touch to his pleasure sensors, and all it succeeded in doing was sending yet another gush of lube cascading through his fingers. 

“I’m fine,” he answered, trembling beneath the touch. “The bio component that controls the dispensing of my internal lubrication seems to have suffered damage. I can no longer close off the channel.” 

“Fuck, I really did break his pussy,” Nichols snorted, only to choke and startle when the door to the van jerked open without warning. 

The entire scene froze for a moment, and 900 was able to use that time to analyze the current situation. Both Nichols and Smith had managed to tuck themselves away from sight, but both were wet to some degree from the contents of 900’s lubricant dispenser. Their uniforms were disheveled, their faces ruddy and coated in a layer of sweat. At the rear of the van stood Captain Allen, just behind him the rest of the team milling about with their weapons, armor, and communicators whirling as they performed the usual post-op communications with the local law enforcement groups to direct traffic and see to emergency services. Captain Allen’s eyes were wide, his nostrils flared. He couldn’t seem to decide what to look at, 900 sitting in his puddle or the two SWAT officers standing just outside of it. 

A sharp inhale from the captain broke whatever spell there was. Movement returned to the space as Nichols and Smith stood at attention, eyes wide and mouths falling open to explain away what the captain had clearly just walked in on. 

Before they could manage more than a choked, “Captain, we—” the captain was lifting his hand, his mouth set in a firm, emotionless line. He stepped into the van, closing the door behind him so no one outside could see what was going on within. 

“Shut up,” he said, glancing up at his men “I swear to god if you just busted the most expensive piece of equipment we’ve got, it’s coming out of your paychecks.” He then turned his full attention to 900. “RK900, systems report.” 

Dutifully 900 repeated exactly what he just told Smith and Nichols. “The bio component that controls the dispensing of my internal lubrication has suffered damage. I can no longer close off the channel.” He’d run out of his entire supply of lube at this point. He would need to refill once it was repaired. “Everything else is in order with my system, but structural integrity of my pleasure components has been greatly impacted by this damage.” 

900 hung his head at the thought. He wouldn’t be able to assist the team or the captain in the state he was in now, and that was a huge blow to his usefulness to the team. 

Captain Allen’s expression grew stonier. “So they broke you,” he said without inflection. 

900 nodded, unable to lift his head. 

“In our defense, it was an accident,” Smith tried. 

Nichols cleared his throat. “Yeah. Seriously, we didn’t mean to break his pussy, but—”

“We’re going to have a talk about this back at the station,” Allen cut in, lifting his hand to cut them both off. “Not here with the news vans circling the damn area like vultures. Get the fuck out of here and go do your jobs. I’ll deal with you later, after this mess is cleaned up.” 

The men paled a little, gulping audibly. Allen snapped his head towards the front of the van. “Go on,” he ordered in a clipped tone. “Go secure the perimeter— the front door, Nichols, use the  _ front  _ door before the press catches sight of this!” 

“Yes sir, sorry sir!” Nichols practically shouted as he dove over the puddle of slick to scramble for the passenger side door. Smith fumbled after him, and soon it was just 900 left. Just him and the captain and the mess 900 had made on the floor. 

There was silence for a moment. Then, Captain Allen let out a sigh, kneading at his eyes tiredly. “Can’t believe it barely lasted a week,” he muttered under his breath before dropping his hand to stare down at 900. “Would you lift your head already? You look like a kicked puppy. It’s fine, alright? It’s not like you asked them to break you. . I’ll send in the paperwork and we’ll get you fixed. Just… clean yourself up, alright? And put some damn clothes on.”

RK900 quickly nodded his head. The captain turned and opened the door of the van just a crack. He looked outside and judged the view. Smith and Nichols’s voices could be heard above the rest. They were probably trying to make up for the lapse with added enthusiasm. The captain shook his head and muttered something under his breath, and then paused before exiting. 900 sat up straight and waited. Allen quirked the corner of his lip. 

“One last thing.”

“Yes, Captain?”

“Nichols? Smith?” the captain posed. “No...  _ playing _ with them for a week. They’re grounded. Don’t let them so much as touch you or I’ll punish you too. Understand?”

Oh, this was worse than he’d thought. RK900 bowed his head and nodded contritely. “Yes, Captain,” he said. “Sorry, Captain.”

He just hoped the captain would be the one to break that to the others. 900 would hate to be the bearer of such unfortunate news. He liked the team to be happy. 

Perhaps he’d find a different way to satisfy them in the meantime. 

**Author's Note:**

> lol hope yall liked that! check me out on twitter @tdcloud_writes for more dbh funtimes and online under the name T.D. Cloud for my original work. until next time!


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